U-Haul? More Like Poo-Haul.

Our road trip's frustrations begin before the trip even starts. We are scheduled to leave Saturday morning, and stay the night in Tucson.  We figure it will take about 9 hours, but that we will get there in plenty of time to watch the UFC fights. Friday morning, Michael goes to pick up the trailer to tow my vehicle on, and we hit the first snag.  Apparently they have rented us a trailer that isn't there yet.  Considering the reservation was made far in advance, we are being charged by the day and we paid ahead of time, this is incredibly frustrating.  However, they tell us they open at 8 am the next day, and we can just get there then and it won't be long before we will be on our way, so we schedule our appointment.  Like we have another choice.  Thanks for the amazing service, U-Haul!

With all our furniture gone, we spend our last evening reading on the kitchen floor, and fall asleep on our less than comfortable air mattress. It's pretty much like sleeping in a bounce house. When morning comes, we still have to pack the last of our things in our cars, which takes much longer than anticipated.  We end up getting to U-Haul at 10:30, 2 and a half hours later than our scheduled time.  No matter, because they still are not ready for us.  The trailer is at least there this time but apparently now the problem is that there's only one person employed there who is capable of hooking it up for us, and he hasn't shown up to work yet, nor do they have any clue as to where he is or when he will be there. So, with our keys turned in and no place to go (except Tucson), we wait. And wait. And wait some more.  Finally, at noon, he shows up for work. Employee of the freaking year.  After reluctantly helping us attach the trailer (um, isn't that your job??!), he vehemently refuses to help us put the car on the trailer, because he says it would be a liability. Luckily, after careful driving and waving on, we are able to do it on our own, which was totally scary, and we are finally on our way at 1 pm.  Driving with my car precariously hanging off his truck is a lot scarier than we anticipated.  We can't drive faster than 60 miles per hour, and we finally pull into our Tucson hotel at 12:30 am.  Poor Tito is scared out of his mind at his new surroundings, and promptly hides under the bed from the time we arrive until we pull him out the next morning, only to stuff him back in the crate to do it all again.  Next stop: San Antonio.